


the sun you always had

by cirque



Category: Lie to Me (TV)
Genre: F/M, Family, Father-Daughter Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-11
Updated: 2013-01-11
Packaged: 2018-03-07 04:02:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,935
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3160454
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cirque/pseuds/cirque
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Emily's coming home for the weekend, and she doesn't tell him til Friday afternoon, so they don't have long to figure this out. Gillian takes her clothes out of the washing pile just in case.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the sun you always had

Emily's coming home for the weekend, and she doesn't tell him til Friday afternoon, so they don't have long to figure this out. Gillian takes her clothes out of the washing pile just in case. She's not sure what she's hiding - she's left many clothes here over the years and Cal has returned them fresh and clean, and she has never felt shame in it before. But maybe it's different when it's underwear.

 

It's not like she wants to hide this from Emily, really she doesn't, but it's still quite new, and telling Emily is as good as telling Zoe, which ought to be fine except it isn't. They haven't been consciously keeping it secret; they've always been the first two at the office and usually the last to leave, and no one notices if he stares at her ass without shame because he's Lightman.

So no one knows, and the plan is to keep it that way.

"Have you guys told Emily yet?"

OK, so maybe Torres knows. Gillian finishes the sentence she's typing and turns to Torres slowly in the dim light of the lab, her face unreadable though she knows Torres probably has her beat.

They're friends anyway, or near enough, so she shrugs. "No. Not yet."

"But you will, right? I mean, you're not going to lie outright, right?" Torres flashes disgust and a little envy, but Gillian lets it slide.

"If Emily asks, which she probably won't, I will be honest."

"And Lightman?"

"Will be Lightman."

* * *

 

Cal is Cal, so Gillian isn't there when Emily gets home late Friday, gives them space and whatever else fathers and daughters need after a prolonged time apart. She figures he's fussing about, asking too many questions and she hopes he isn't too invasive. Emily is adamant college is going well, but Cal is concerned, will always be concerned until his dying day.

Emily throws a wrench in their plan by wanting her over for dinner, so Gillian puts on her favorite shirt and the shoes Em gave her last Christmas, and leaves her house for Cal's like any other Friday night. She drags her feet a little on the porch, doesn't know which face to wear in case it's Emily who answers the door, and settles for friendly, her smile touching her eyes.

It's Cal who answers on her third knock, his face a mixed bag of emotions, the most prevalent of which is stress.

"She's a detective tonight," he says after he kisses her, (cheek not lips), "I'm under interrogation. Wants to know what I've been up to."

"Relax," she says, though she knows he won't. She isn't too worried, Emily is perceptive and smart but she's no deception expert, and it's not like what they're hiding is something terrible.

Gillian follows him through to the kitchen, to where Emily is stirring a pan full of something lumpy and white.

"Risotto," says the girl, pronouncing it like Cal would, no T's. "Hey Gill," she moves over for a hug and though intellectually Gillian knows she isn't any taller, she could swear the girl has grown.

"I'm calling it _rice a la freshman_ ," Cal says with a wry grin as he pours dark red wine into a fresh glass. He already has a glass standing on the sideboard, half empty.

"Can I have some?" Emily asks.

Cal passes the glass to Gill, careful of his fingers, and turns to his daughter. "Not on your life."

"Oh, you think I don't drink at college?"

"I think I don't wanna hear about it."

"I think if you'd raised me in England I'd be old enough already."

"I think you're pushing your luck."

"I think this rice is ready," says Gill, watching the pan as it steams into oblivion.

The table is already set, fancy napkins and all, so Cal just carries the pan into the dining room and they're ready to eat. The risotto is nice, sausage and peas, though Gillian has tasted better, and Cal eyes Emily who eyes him right back. They talk about college mostly, about how Emily is liking psychology but not art history, how she's getting on fine with her roommate but not her roommate's entourage of cheerleader friends.

"And what about you?" Emily says with a dangerous smile. "Work on any interesting cases lately?"

"Wouldn't tell you if I had," Cal says, stabbing his fork into his rice with more vehemence than it probably deserves. "'Sides, work is the same as usual. Nothing's changed. Foster's writing a book though."

"Oh?" Emily is intrigued, her eyebrows shooting north, and her smile is large.

"Yeah," says Gill, flushed that Cal has turned the conversation to her, "Criminal psychology and deception in gang-related settings. It's nothing special."

"It'll be a bestseller," says Cal. His pride is genuine, but so is his jealousy, his own books sitting untested at the forefront of the genre for so many years. Gillian remembers that line, the one that they desperately cling to, and nods her thanks.

Emily smiles, "I'll bet."

Emily does the washing up, which Gillian doesn't think is fair but she offered and Cal said that maybe college is teaching her something after all. Emily had pulled a face at that, and had reminded Gill of the first time they'd met; Emily an awkward preteen, shy, though she'd tried to hide it. They'd played hangman on her whiteboard waiting for Cal to finish up in his office.

They sit on the couch while she clatters about at the sink, close but not too close.

"What happened to not lying to her?" She says with a frown.

"What?"

"'Nothing's changed', seriously?"

"That was about work. I'm not lying, nothing has changed at work."

"Oh, come on Cal. That was a loaded question, she was asking about us without actually asking. She knows."

"Nah."

"She knows."

"No way."

"Way."

"Then she won't bat an eye if I do this," and he kisses her, quick. She pokes his ribs, and rolls her eyes, and they both turn toward the kitchen, but Emily is preoccupied with scrubbing the pan and hasn't noticed a thing.

"Maybe I gotta be more obvious," says Cal, his eyes devilish. "Say, Doctor Foster, how about a sleepover?"

She pretends to be shocked and lets him kiss her ear for a minute before pushing him away and giving him her best serious look, the one she gives him when he's drifting on a particularly important case. "We should talk to her."

"Tomorrow," he say, and maybe means it, "She's tired now. I want her proper attention." It shouldn't hurt, she'd agreed to the plan after all, and yet. "We'll all do lunch or something, make it nice."

"Okay," she says, and squeezes his hand. "I'll go then."

"Aw, come on."

"No, if you want her thinking nothing's changed then I'm going home like usual. It's getting late anyway."

"You're leaving?" Emily walks in during the tail end of her sentence, drying her hands on a plaid towel. She looks disappointed, and Gillian doesn't blame her.

"Yeah. It's late. But I'll see you tomorrow, your dad says we're going for lunch." She leans in to hug Emily, dropping a kiss onto her forehead.

"Sounds nice," says Emily, "See you tomorrow then."

Cal gets up to walk her out, gripping the doorjam like it's keeping him upright. "Good night Foster," he says, plain and unreadable like it's any other night from before.

"Night Cal."

He winks, and it's meant to placate her so she spares him a small smile, but it doesn't reach her eyes and he knows it.

* * *

 

They don't usually work weekends, but she has paperwork she wants to finish before the new case on Monday so come nine in the morning she's settled at her desk with a fresh cup of coffee. There's no one really here but it doesn't bother her, she slips her heels off under her desk and lets her feet rest on the cool floor as she types.

Lightman shows up at eleven as she's in the cafeteria refilling her coffee mug. She didn't expect him but she's pleased to see him all the same, as he walks towards her with his hands outstretched. "Morning sexy."

"Good morning," she lets him kiss her, but is careful of the coffee cradled in her hands. "You're early."

"Em cornered me. Said she wouldn't move unless I confessed."

"She knows?"

"Oh yeah. She _knew_."

"So much for telling her together."

"I'm sorry," he says, and he genuinely is.

She sips her hot coffee and begins the walk back to her office, and he follows her like they're working a case, his hand on her lower back. They sit opposite one another at the desk and he watches her type for a little while, chewing his lip between his teeth, a nervous habit he doesn't usually indulge in.

"Lunch still on?" She says, to break the silence. It isn't awkward but it is unusual. They've been practicing having quiet calm moments together lately, but it's not something Cal is good at because he likes to _talk_.

"As far as I know."

She takes a long pull of coffee to chew on her next sentence. "And she's... okay? With this?"

"Absolutely. In fact, her exact words were 'oh my god, finally, I knew it, oh my god'," he says this deadpan and she laughs, because of course.

"I did not say 'oh my god' that many times."

They whip around and Emily is standing in the doorway, her coat undone and her long scarf trailing downwards. She leans against the door and looks pretty smug at discovering their secret, her face open, a dozen emotions at once.

"It's not lunch yet," says Cal.

Emily comes towards them, taking her scarf off and draping it around her dad's shoulders. He doesn't struggle, just pulls it tighter. "I know. But I thought we could walk there together. Where are we going?"

"Wherever you want, love."

Gillian saves her document and logs off, any hope of getting her work finished put away until Monday. She slips her feet back into her shoes; they're cool now and her feet feel strange.

"Is it okay that I came early?"

"Of course," she replies, squeezing Emily's hand as she walks past to pull her coat from the hanger in the corner, slip her arms into it, tie the belt snug around her waist. It's a little cold out today and she'll feel the chill.

Cal slaps his hands on his thighs and hauls himself to his feet, balling up the scarf from his neck and tossing it at Emily. He shoves his hands in his pockets as he walks towards her, but reaches out at the last second to hook his arm around her neck and pull her to him. "You're too smart for me sometimes, you know?" And Gillian knows he isn't just talking about now, about them, but about how Emily is wise and quiet, her father's daughter yes but her mother's too, how she'd known the way things were going to work out before anyone else.

"I know."

Cal wraps his other arm around Gillian, and kisses them both, his daughter and his - what - girlfriend? Partner? Partner. If there's any word she could ever use to describe them, it's partners and she's been his partner, in one way or another, for the last ten years.

"Come on," Cal says, guiding them out the door. "I'm paying."

"Whoa, what?" Emily cranes her neck up to him, catches Gillian's eye and they grin.

"You heard. I'll even buy pudding."


End file.
